


Cigarette Burns

by Lady_Line



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Oral Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-26
Updated: 2012-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-31 18:25:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/347080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Line/pseuds/Lady_Line
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His hands work quickly, and Molly focuses on those long, graceful fingers.  She can just imagine what those fingers are capable of in the sack…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cigarette Burns

**Author's Note:**

> I may not be quite done editing this, but please enjoy it! Feel free to send me any helpful suggestions!

It’s another late night at Bart’s. 

 

Molly quietly wonders if she’ll get to leave any time soon.  All she wanted to do was go home, take a bath while she watched some telly, and pass out after eating some leftover pizza.   _That’s not too much to ask, is it?_ she thinks, chin in her hand as she watches Sherlock putting out cigarettes on a recently deceased mother of four.  He moves around the body like a ferret, bobbing around watching the burn marks smolder.  _He’s so fit, it’s tragic_ ,  Molly thinks.  His hands work quickly, and Molly focuses on those long, graceful fingers.  She can just imagine what those fingers are capable of in the sack…

 

“RIGHT!” Sherlock suddenly shouts, and Molly squeaks so hard she nearly falls off her stool.

 

“Good Lord, Sherlock, you nearly gave me a heart attack!” Molly gasps , clutching at her chest. 

 

“Highly unlikely,” Sherlock mumbles as he inspects his handiwork on the cadaver.  Molly crinkles her nose when he takes a drag off one of the cigarettes.  Sherlock looks over at her, rolling his eyes.  “Please, Molly, I’m not putting the corpse end in my mouth.” 

 

“Yes, but I still don’t think it’s…” she trails off.  It’s those eyes, those obnoxiously blue eyes that catch Molly’s words and send them back down her throat before they reach her mouth.  She shakes herself in an attempt to reset and hopefully not make a complete fool of herself in front of Sherlock.  “Are you quite done?”

 

Sherlock nods and steps back, lost in thought. Molly scurries past him, pulls on a pair of disposable gloves and starts zipping Mrs. Four-Kids back into her body bag.  Sherlock finishes the cigarette, puts it out on the table, and steeples his fingers under his nose. Molly leaves him, heading to the locker room to pick up her things and change out of her lab clothes.

**************************************************************

“It’s very quiet here at night, isn’t it?” 

 

It’s the second time in the last thirty minutes that Molly thought her heart was going to burst out of her chest.  She turns around so fast that she bashes her forehead on the open locker, surprising her further and sending her back flat against the lockers.

 

“Good for brain work.”

 

“Sh-Sherlock!  I thought you’d g-gone!!”  He’s standing in the doorway to the women’s locker room, eyes roaming up and down the walls, over the sinks, resting on the showers in the far back.  He doesn’t seem to have noticed Molly’s graceless reaction to Sherlock’s appearance.  She pulls her kitten-print cardigan closer around her, having just shed her lab coat and blouse for clothes that didn’t smell of formaldehyde.  “What…what are you doing in here?”

 

“You remember the Gianfala’s Gym case? “ Molly very slightly shakes her head back and forth.  “Fascinating bit of murder in a ladies’ locker room at a gym in Bristol.  Turns out the victim’s female lover had choked her to death with a pair of free weights.” He waves his hand as if brushing away a cobweb. “Anyway, knowledge of the layout of the locker room was pertinent in that case.  Seeing as I had never been in this one, I thought I should take a look.”

 

“Right, well, I’m off, then,” Molly says as she closes her locker, then gathers her purse and her little duffel full of lab clothes together.

 

Sherlock looks over at her as if seeing her for the first time.  “Your forehead…”

 

“Oh, it’s nothing, I just—“ Molly reaches up to feel, dropping her duffel.  She’s surprised to find a trickle of blood.  “Bollocks.”

 

Sherlock steps forward, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket.  Molly freezes in place, and Sherlock closes the gap between them in four long steps.  He slides the fingers of his left hand behind Molly’s right ear, right into her hair.  She’s ridiculously aware of that hand, Sherlock’s thumb pressing gently into her cheek, tilting her head back to get a better look at the cut.  She turns her large eyes up, looking into Sherlock’s face.  He takes a long minute to study the cut, and Molly (somewhat guiltily) takes that minute as a chance to study the face that started ruining her life when she met Sherlock a few months ago.

 

He presses a corner of the handkerchief to her cut.  She closes her eyes.  Her mind goes blank. 

 

She doesn’t breathe for what feels like several minutes.

 

She comes back to herself when she feels his hand leaving her face.  Molly blinks up at Sherlock, everything a little out of focus.  She expects him to turn on his heel and walk out, having gathered whatever information on skin contusions he wanted.  Instead, his hand slips down to her throat, fingers pressing very slightly into the pulse fluttering in time with Molly’s heart. 

 

“Your heartbeat is getting faster…” Sherlock said, his low voice uncharacteristically soft.  He’s looking down at her throat, then to her chest, rising and falling with each of Molly’s tentative breaths.  He’s stopped breathing.  She blushes, and she’s certain he sees the flush of pink on her chest that gives her away every time.  Molly’s mind is racing.  _What is he doing?  Is he actually turned on?  He’s never seemed interested in me before.  What do I do?_  

 

“Sh-Sherlock?” His eyes, heavy-lidded and quite unlike anything she’s seen on him before, stutter up to hers.  “Is this an…experiment?” 

 

He swallows, deeply, as if he’s training his esophagus on the proper method of peristalsis.  “No, Molly, it isn’t.  I’m just, um,” another big swallow, “I’m just processing new data.”  It’s not the most romantic thing Molly’s ever heard, but coming from Sherlock, she has a good idea of what it means.  She sneaks a glance down, and it doesn’t take a doctor to know what that distension in the front of his trousers means.  Molly brings her hand up to Sherlock’s, still on her throat, and slides it down to rest on her sternum.  He breathes in sharply.  “I’m just more used to having a cold body under my hands, rather than a warm one.”  

 

Molly smiles wide at that.  “Well, that’s something we have in common, I think, Sherlock.”  His eyes dart up to hers, and the corners of his mouth twitch with a small smile.  He presses his hand a little more firmly into her chest.

 

She breathes deeply, liking the pressure from his warm hand on her skin.  Sherlock moves his fingers under the collar of her cardigan and then under her black bra strap.  In one fluid motion, he exposes her shoulder and brings his mouth to it, grazing his teeth on the white skin.  His mouth moves up her neck, pausing at the place where he was feeling her pulse, just under her jaw.  Molly sucks in, tilting her head back once again at Sherlock’s touch.  He pulls back slightly, looking a little worried, or maybe confused.  “All right?” he asks, looking unsure of himself. 

 

“Yes, fine, it’s all very fine.”  She can’t hold back anymore.  She spends too much of her life letting little opportunities pass her by.  This won’t be one.

 

She pulls his lips to hers, tasting him for the first time.  There’s a little bit of a cigarette aftertaste, but certainly not enough to put her off.  His movements are hesitant at first, keeping his mouth only slightly open, not really returning the kiss.  _Is this his first kiss?_   Molly’d be surprised if it was, but knowing Sherlock…

 

She keeps it up, feels him relaxing into it, mirroring her lips as she hooks her left arm around his neck.  She pushes her fingers through Sherlock’s hair, enjoying how the curls circle each of her fingers.  His hair is softer than she had expected.  It’s nice.

 

Molly uses her free hand to release the first couple of buttons on Sherlock’s shirt.  Molly may be shy and quiet, but she’s smart, and she certainly knows her way around a man. She pushes his shirt down past his elbows, pinning his arms to his side.  Keeping her mouth on his, she backs Sherlock up to one of he benches and sits him down.  She takes a moment to pull back and check in with the status of his trousers.  _Green light to go, then._

 

She dives into the hollow of Sherlock’s collarbone, running her tongue along the thin skin there.  She works her way down, undoing the rest of Sherlock’s buttons and pulling his shirt down to his wrists.  One hand on his warm shoulder, she cups the front of his trousers, feeling his erection harden at her touch.  He makes a little noise in his throat that makes Molly’s head swim.

 

Molly pulls down on Sherlock’s belt, gets impatient, and then undoes the belt instead.  Sherlock slips out of the trousers, pushing his hips up, shoulder blades braced against the wall behind him.  Molly gasps a little and feels her face growing hot at the sight of Sherlock’s long, curved cock pressing through the thin fabric of his black boxer briefs.  She wanted to feel it, to taste it, to suck him down until he cried out with pleasure.  But she didn’t want this to end too quickly, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever get Sherlock like this again. Molly decides to take her time. 

 

She stands up, and Sherlock looks panicked for a moment.  “What is it?  Is this alright?” He looks down at himself, obviously thinking he put her off somehow.  God, Molly loves seeing him like this; unsure of himself, exploring territory that he’s not entirely comfortable with.  She doesn’t usually like her men to be this self-conscious, but in Sherlock’s case, it’s giving her something of a rush.

 

“Oh, we’re not done here?”  Molly tries her hand at teasing him, which feels unnatural and forced.  She likes his reaction, though.  His eyes go round with desperation, and she feels herself throbbing at that unbridled desire.  Sherlock’s usually so in control of himself.  Seeing him sitting there on a bench in the ladies’ locker room, shirt still caught around his wrists, bare torso, pants tenting up vulgarly, trousers around his ankles, knees spread, all of him pale and wiry, is making Molly’s knees weak.  She had imagined him like this, wanted this since she met him, but his asinine attitude toward her had made her doubt anything would ever happen between them.

 

_I guess I was wrong._

 

“No, we’re not,” Sherlock growls a little, sits up, and pulls Molly closer.  Her feet go numb as her heart starts thumping like crazy, blood pumping fast but only to the right places.  She stands there between his knees, hands in his hair.  He unbuttons her cardigan and runs his hands up and down her ribs, her stomach, cupping her breasts.  And then, _oh God_ , he undoes the clasp in the front of her bra.  Her nipples stand up, erect in the cool air, perky and—

 

“Fascinating,” Sherlock whispers. 

 

“Oh, I’m not over-compensating for my small breasts now?” 

 

He answers by lightly rubbing her nipples with his fingers, then circles her left one with his tongue, the wetness making it stand out even more.

 

 

Her panties are soaking wet.  She needs to get out of her jeans.  Now.

 

As though reading her mind, Sherlock backs off of her breasts and starts rubbing the front of her jeans.  _Shit_.  He unbuttons her, slides his hands down along her thighs, letting her step out.  He noses at the wetness, taking deep breaths of her.  He mouths her through her panties, making the pink cotton even wetter.  He drags his thumbnail up her slit through the thin material, then hooks his thumbs into the top of the elastic, and pulls down.   He pulls her folds apart, studying, cataloguing, and his brain isn’t the only part of him that’s engaged.  Then his tongue, the warm, wet muscle stroking her labia, circling her clit, is driving her wild. 

 

“I can’t…take it…anymore…” she gasps, hands twisted in his hair.  Sherlock pulls back, clearly startled.

 

“But you’re responding in all the normal ways, at least from what I’ve read…”  He starts scanning her body, clearly racking his brain for alternative actions that would bring her to a fulfilling orgasm.

 

Molly bites back a smile.  Softly, she says, “Sherlock, it’s all too amazing, but it’s too much.  You’re about to make me cum with just your tongue.”

 

“But?”

 

“But, I want to come with you inside of me.” The sound that rumbles out of Sherlock’s throat is animalistic.  She straddles him, sitting on his knees, and pulls the front of his pants down under his cock.  It rises straight up, the tip shining with pre-cum.  Molly grasps Sherlock’s erection near the base, turned on by the heat and the hardness of that muscle.  He throws his head back with a moan, hitting it against the cement wall, uttering a short curse, which Molly thinks probably has less to do with hitting his head and more to do with the fact that her petite hand is now rubbing his length up and down.

 

“I have to ask you something, Sherlock.”

 

“Guh, uh, whu?”

 

“Is this your first, you know, _time_?  _With_ someone?”

 

“Is that even rele—“

 

“Answer me, Sherlock,” She whispers into his ear, her lips brushing his skin, fingers running along the underside of his erection.  “I need to know before we go any further.”  His fingers slip into her, exploring the walls of her vagina, sliding in and out and along her folds and around her clit and back into her again.

 

“No,” he says after a few moments, “this isn’t my first time.  I just usually take care of things on my own.  But you—“ Sherlock smirks a little as he plunges his middle and ring fingers into her as deeply as he can, “—you get it more often that you’d like to let on.  _Fuck_!“ he gasps when she squeezes his cock, hard.

 

“I’ve really just been _biding my time_ with other men,” Molly answers.  “I’ve been wanting _you_.” She feels his erection go rock hard at that.  She rocks back and forth on Sherlock’s hand, and he responds by pressing his palm into her clit and wiggling his fingers inside of her.  “Sherlock.  I need you.  Inside of me.  Now.”  He removes his hand  eagerly, sucking on his slick fingers, the other hand on her right breast, lightly kneading the nipple.  She pulls her hand up the length of his cock, giving a quick squeeze with every inch.  Brushing her fingers over the head and licking the pre-come, Molly rocks her hips up and angles directly over him. 

 

Sherlock watches as Molly lowers herself slowly onto his cock, his jaw popping up and down with silent gasps of pleasure.  She takes a little of him at a time, rising back up until just his head is inside her, then back down again, more each time.   She’s all the way to the base, his pubic hair tickling the crest of her shaved vulva, when she wraps her arms behind Sherlock’s head.  His hands are on her ass, his breath is hot on her neck and she presses her body into his, pumping her hips up and down, his warm cock feeling perfect inside of her.  Molly never thought she'd get Sherlock, he always seemed so unobtainable.  She smiles to herself, feeling a bit of pride, letting out little gasps of pleasure with each thrust of Sherlock’s cock.

 

She doesn’t want it to ever end. 

 

Then Sherlock does something that drives Molly over the edge.  He licks one of his thumbs, works his hand between them, and presses against her clit.  That paired with the quickening slide of Sherlock's cock, Molly comes hard and fast, blindsided by the intensity of her orgasm.  Lights explode behind her eyes.  A numbness spreads from her ass down the backs of her thighs, and all she knows is Sherlock’s fingers and cock, and all she wants is those things forever.  She contracts violently, tightening around Sherlock and making him cry out with pleasingly unbridled surprise.  She rides him through her orgasm, shuddering with muscle strain and waves of pleasure. 

 

Sherlock’s hands are on Molly’s hips, and they suddenly grasp her tightly, lifting her off of him.  With a shout, he pulls out just in time to ejaculate on his belly, bright jets of cum splattered up his front.  Molly collapses against him and he puts his arms around her, both of them breathing heavily, mixing their sweat and Sherlock’s semen together. 

 

After they’ve both gotten their breath back, Molly gingerly pushes off of Sherlock and stands.  “Oof, Sherlock, I’ll be feeling that for days.”  He winces, sitting up and stretching his back.  He looks down at the mess on his front.

 

“Uh, could I borrow a towel?” Sherlock says, looking slightly sheepish.  Molly drinks in the image of Sherlock sitting there, spread out, exhausted in his post-coital glow, looking absolutely delicious. 

 

She grabs his hand, and pulls him up.  Leading Sherlock toward the showers, she throws him a shy, flirty look.

 

“I have a better idea.”

 

 


End file.
